BITTER SWEET. | J. JK

FORTY-NINE.

22 years ago... (high-key important flashback)

"Name?" Her black eyes scanned him and his messy clothing thoroughly, curve on her lips in distaste on left her hand a small shinny dagger, with gold and black details throughout the whole handle, forming a Chinese dragon on the tip, twirling through her fingers effortlessly. New client, she supposed.

"Zach Lee. I'm starting my training today." He said confidently. The raven-haired woman quirked up an eyebrow to him, the man before her was a foreigner- definitely Asian, probably Korean but also western features? He was mixed. Her intense stare observing the man caused a rather uncomfortable feeling, forcing him to avert his eyes from her helplessly. She snorted quietly.

"How can I know you're legit, Zach Lee?"

The Asian male sighed shortly, turning his head to the left, to a better look of the side of his neck, revealing prominent red lines. His skin still swollen due to the flashy stamp printed on his skin. Then, throwing her an nonchalant glare.

"Very good. Come in." She nodded, after throwing a quick glance at the vivid red ink craved on his skin, the permanent tattoo signing him that he was an insider.

The word "Phantom" imprinted in a crimson red mirroring the bloodshed, all the trainees were forced to not only to suffer but assist to. It was physically and psychologically excruciating to be able to have the honor to be a member of The Phantom, but that wasn't by far the hardest task. It was even more difficult to maintain your position and to survive under the strict rules of the syndicate. The woman knew it very well, since she was the one behind all of it. She had invested every droplet of herself on building up and arising The Phantom. Every drop of sweat, blood and tears of hers devoted to her beliefs, and she couldn't afford anybody to come in and fuck it up. No, this was her life, this was her legacy and she couldn't let it go to waste. So, yes, this type of treatment was necessary.

"Phantom, I assure you I'll be a good addiction to your gang-"

"Say that again."

"Uh? W-what? Gang?"

The woman let out a bitter scoff, wresting the pointy blaze at his neck without hesitation. "This isn't a gang, pretty boy. Gangs are for the small-minded people out there in the dirty streets, feigning to own the world, to be influential. Does The Phantom look like a gang to you?"

The woman pushed the sharp tip of the knife against his neck, sinking into his skin easily to the point she could feel the vibration of the man gulping hard. Cold sweat rolling down his forehead, apologies stumbling out of his mouth continuously, his eyes hinting pure fear as he was forced to be pushed against the wall. She smiled evilly. "Gangs, are nothing but little meaningless pieces to a bigger game. That, Zach Lee, is what really matters. The bigger plan. Having street reputation, killing some bitches and selling some weak shit is nothing. I can do that with my eyes closed. In order to be remembered as great, you have to think bigger, you have to be hungrier, you have to be smarter, you have to be ruthless. No fucking feels attached. Can you do that, Zach Lee? Are you a coward?"

"N-No mi- I-I..."

"Shut up creature! I'm warning you. This isn't for everybody, if you want to survive here you have to be more fucked up than what your actions. A head shot isn't enough. You need to slaughter. A few grams of heroin don't get your debts paid. You need heavy kilograms of that shit. A Glock won't save your ass. You need a complete armory. Want to survive? Fucking work of it. Do you understand?" Her blazing glare burning the hunched down man, almost in verge of tears, her cruel words spat at him effortlessly, a satisfying feeling emerging on her. "So, no this isn't no fucking gang filled of pussies. This is a serious corporation ready to rule this vicious world of ours, and the only way to abandon it is through death. But that doesn't really scare you, does it? Death is easy, a cheap slut while life is the real bitch, yet quite addicting don't you think?"